As he looks down into my eyes, I can’t look away, no matter how many times I tell myself I should. No matter how many times I tell myself that he only bought me for pleasure, I know deep down that isn’t true.
I shouldn’t fall for this man. Shouldn’t let this man claim my body and my heart.
But I also know now… it’s already far too late for that.
Marcello
My heart pounds in my chest as I stare into Harper’s eyes. My hand rests on her cheek, where her skin has flushed beneath my touch. Her breath matches mine, inhale for inhale, exhale for exhale, like we are two halves of the same whole.
She is the light to my darkness. The pleasure to my pain.
I could lose myself in her. The anger I feel swirling in me when she snoops, when she taunts, when she resists? That’s just a cover-up for what I’m truly feeling for her. A way of ignoring the truth.
Because the truth is, I’m frightened by the thought of baring my soul. The things I carry with me are for my shoulders only. No one else can help me bear the weight.
At least, that’s what I used to think.
But now, I know I was wrong.
I never intended for Harper to see me at my mother’s bedside. But she doesn’t give a flying fuck about boundaries. She sees them for what they are—walls, put up in a futile effort to protect myself from the darkness of my past.
And as I look into her eyes, still dilated from the passion we just shared, I can feel those walls crumbling.
Brick by brick.
“You are dangerous, kitten,” I whisper in a deep rasp.
“Says the don,” she retorts with a sassy tilt to her lips. “Talk about throwing rocks in a glass house.”
I laugh softly and shake my head. “I’m dangerous to the men who cross me, yes. But you are dangerous in a different way.”
“How’s that?”
I clench my jaw as I caress her lips with my thumb once more. So plump and ripe, so perfect. They’re still red and swollen from the force of our lovemaking, and I’m tempted to devour them again. I want to see them wrapped around my cock. It’s been hardly a minute since I erupted inside her, yet I already want more. It’s never enough with her.
That’s why she’s dangerous. Because she makes it seem like her kiss is the only worthwhile thing left to earn in this world. “You’re dangerous because you make me—”
“Marcello!”
An unexpected voice echoes down the hallway. We quickly rise to put our clothes on before anyone sees us naked.
Harper’s eyes bore into me. “Make you what?” she demands.
But I press my thumb on her lips to silence her. “Not now.”
Footsteps slap against the stones, and Claudio emerges, panting as though he’s just run a marathon. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him looking this rattled.
Something bad has happened.
Something very fucking bad.
“What is it?” I ask him.
He sighs again and straightens his tie. Even at this late hour, he is still wearing the finest Italian suit. I spy a spot of blood on the cuff before he straightens it.
“We found something,” he begins. He glances at Harper as if he’s waiting for her to leave.
“Tell me,” I order. He arches an eyebrow. I grit my teeth and growl it again. “I said tell me, Claudio.”
“It’s Giovanni,” he finally says.
“You found him?” After the taunting call yesterday, I assumed I’d never see that traitorous bastard again. “I want to speak to him now.”
“That won’t be easy, sir,” Claudio says with a grimace. “He’s dead.”
Dead? Goddammit. I wanted to put a bullet through his head myself, and now that chance has slipped from my fingers.
“And also …”
His eyes flit over to Harper as though he doesn’t trust her to hear what he has to say. I lose my patience. The roller coaster of emotions over the past few days has sapped what little patience I had left.
“Stop beating around the fucking bush and tell me what else!” I roar. My voice echoes in the room.
“It’ll be better to show you,” Claudio replies firmly. “You’re going to want to see it yourself.”
I sigh. So be it. I turn and look at Harper, who hasn’t moved a muscle. She’s looking back at me with wide eyes. To my surprise, there’s no fear in them. She knows who I am and what I’m capable of. The things I deal with.
But there is something else in her, too: icy steel. She doesn’t belong to my world, but she isn’t shying away from it. She isn’t flinching as my consigliere, and I talk about dead traitors in the middle of the night.
I realize with a jolt that I love that about her. She is a whole host of contradictions. Pure innocence and endless decadence. Submissive and defiant. A delicate flower and an iron fist, all at once.